


Manifest

by jihoonscereal



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, But not superheroes, Hurt/Comfort, it's me so like angst is a given haha, it's still cool tho I promise, many things to be revealed, superpower au, there will be fight scenes, they're all pretty badass, will add tags as needed as I go, yes I wrote this instead of my other fic and what about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 19:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19893352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jihoonscereal/pseuds/jihoonscereal
Summary: control is everything





	Manifest

**Author's Note:**

> y'all know that meme of squidward with his eyes wide open? that was my one braincell at 1am with this   
> (ages used are korean ages - I dont think it matters that much just something to keep in mind, you know)

Jeongin is normal.

He comes into this world crying, discontented and wanting nothing more than the comfort of his mother. He says his first word and learns to crawl, then walk, then run and talk. His small hands make fists around crayons as he draws his parents an unrecognizable picture of their family, smiling and happy, as they are. He learns to ride a bike, starts school, loses his first tooth, makes friends, learns to read and to write. Afternoons spent at home "helping" his mother cook turn into afternoons at the playground earning new scrapes and bruises and imagining worlds far away from here. He has his first taste of homework - the unfairness that he "does all that work in school and has to do more at  _ home _ ?" - and discovers that reading is far less fun when you  _ have  _ to do it. He experiences his first crush and subsequent heartbreak two days later. He takes up soccer, like every other boy in his school, and games now take up his previously free weekends. He discovers an allergy to bee stings. 

Middle school rolls around. Homework piles on and Jeongin decides that math was created simply to spite him. He plays soccer another year, then breaks his arm. He quits, trades soccer tournaments for video games, convinces his parents to get him a smartphone. He gets braces and glasses, curses for the first time, wakes up in a panic in the middle of the night to finish an essay. 

His best friend moves away.

High school. Jeongin discovers contacts. More mumbled cursing over math problems at midnight, hand cramps from streaks of graphite that slowly seem to be becoming a part of him. His first laptop, first all nighter, first time considering what it is he wants to do with his future. 

_ Live a good life and be happy. _

  
  


Jeongin is normal.

Until he's not.

Until a rainy September day the year Jeongin turns 17. September 23, to be exact. He knows it, remembers it like his own birthday. Maybe in a sense it kind of is. 

The day feels like any other when Jeongin makes an unintelligible complaint at his phone alarm for going off right in the middle of a nice dream. A dream in which high school does not exist and Jeongin does not need to go, nor does he need to wake up at the asscrack of dawn. Eyes still crusted with sleep, he throws his covers off like he’s ripping off a bandaid, because the longer he spends in the cozy warmth of his bed, the more tempted he is to stay there and he’s pretty sure his parents would have something to say about that. So instead, he grabs his uniform, shuffles to the bathroom, and curses the public school system for not making Wednesday a holiday. 

“Good morning, Jeongin,” his mother says cheerfully without turning to look at him. Sometimes he wonders if she doesn’t have some secret sixth sense she’s just kept hidden all these years. “Your eggs are on the table. Would you like milk or juice?”

“Good morning.” Jeongin pulls out his chair, significantly more awake after his shower, stomach grumbling for breakfast. “Milk is fine. Thank you.” The carton is placed on the table and he pours himself a glass before digging into his eggs. His mom takes a seat across from him.

“Any fun plans for today?” Jeongin gives her a level look over the rim of his glass, taking a pointedly long gulp, like he’s been stuck in the desert and this is his first drink in days. “What? I can’t be curious about my favorite son’s day?”

_ I’m your only son _ , Jeongin thinks, as he always does when she says this, but responds to her anyway. She always complains about how he never tells her about things anymore - “high school syndrome” she calls it - and how her friend’s daughter  _ always _ talks to her mom about stuff. So Jeongin’s been making an effort to tell her more about his life, even if he’s pretty sure rocks lead more interesting lives than he does. 

“I have a math test today. And I was going to start my history paper.” It’s due on Friday, but he leaves that part out. “So no, I don’t have any “fun” plans, Mom.”

“Alright, alright,” she puts up her hands. “I was just curious. Can you stop by the store on your way home? I’ll text you the list.” Without waiting for Jeongin to agree (though he can hardly refuse seeing as he’s just admitted to not having anything else to do), she’s pulled out her phone and is busy typing away. 

Jeongin’s phone vibrates in his pocket and, despite having just watched his mom text him, he checks it anyway out of habit, and  _ oh shit is that the time? _ He stuffs one more bite of eggs into his mouth and pushes away from the table hurriedly, bolting upstairs. He shoves some papers from his desk into his backpack, hoping they’re the right ones, and fights with the zipper as he makes the trip back downstairs. Somehow it’s always like this; no matter how early Jeongin gets up, he ends up in a hurry.

“Jeongin-ah,” his mom calls while Jeongin’s in the middle of cramming his feet into his shoes and he looks back down the hall. “Don’t forget an umbrella.” 

“It’s not even raining anymore.”

“It’s still in the forecast.” Jeongin grumbles, but snags an umbrella while he’s grabbing a jacket anyway. It isn’t quite fall cold yet, but it definitely isn’t summer warm anymore either and the rain only brings chill. 

“See you later!” He waves into the house, all but running out the door to the front gate. The tell tale click of it closing never comes and Jeongin catches a glimpse of his mother shaking her head fondly at him as she stands in the doorway.

“Don’t forget the store,” echoes behind him as the gate shuts.

“I won’t!” And, with strong words for whoever made the backpack  _ literally _ the worst thing in the world to run with filling his mind, Jeongin sprints to catch his bus.

Third period is when things start feeling different. There’s…  _ something _ . Like a buzzy feeling beneath Jeongin’s skin, pins and needles running through him without end. It doesn’t hurt, it just feels odd. That feeling of danger yet unknown. He tells himself it’s because of next period’s math test; Jeongin always gets nervous for tests. Of course he’s studied, but that’s never a guarantee. The light above his head flickers and Jeongin tilts his head up to frown at it. It continues to flash for a while longer, then finally calms down. As fourth period looms ahead, Jeongin wishes he could say the same for himself.

The buzz doesn’t go away, instead turning into tingles as Jeongin’s pencil scratches against paper in a desperate search for x. They run up and down the length of his spine, an itch he can’t scratch, and branch off into his legs, his arms, his fingers, his head. It’s making it hard to focus on how long a ladder should be if its base meets the ground at a 46 degree angle 1 meter away from the wall and it rests 3 meters up on the wall. By the end, Jeongin honestly couldn’t tell you what he wrote on half those questions, just that he answered them and that there were numbers involved. The tingling won’t go away.

“What did you get for seven?” His friend, Soonyoung, whispers from the seat behind him, tapping Jeongin’s shoulder. Jeongin jumps a bit at the shock. Not because he’s startled, but from the literal shock. 

“I don’t even remember what seven  _ was _ ,” he groans, turning around.

“You good, Jeongin? You look wiped. Are you sick or something?” Jeongin blinks at him in confusion. Actually, he doesn’t feel tired at all, unlike usual. If anything Jeongin feels  _ wired _ today. “Did you stay up studying again?” Their teacher announces that they’re free to go to lunch and Jeongin shrugs.

“I think it’s just one of those days.” Gray. Rainy. All around gross. Who can blame him for looking exhausted? Food will probably perk him up. And hopefully make the tingling stop. Maybe he’s just hungry.

But it gets worse.

The buzzing in his head really has started to hurt, contributing to a throbbing headache that sets Jeongin’s mouth in a tight line for the rest of the afternoon. The light above him doesn’t help, flickering like crazy as if that one spot is haunted. It becomes so annoying that his classmates start turning to look and even their teacher comments on it. Then they all look at him, like Jeongin can do anything about it. He shrinks a bit under the unwanted attention of twenty pairs of eyes and mumbles an apology because they keep  _ looking _ at him and he just wants them not to, to leave him be to manage his headache in peace. It’s not his fault the light is broken.

And then there are the shocks. It had started out as kind of funny, a few zaps to his friends and then his desk, someone at lunch pointing out that his hair was starting to stand up and asking if he had some sort of spidey-sense. Now it’s just annoying. Jeongin’s never been so staticy in his life; it’s like everything he touches shocks him. The metal on his desk is the worst, the most biting of all the shocks, and he can’t stop himself from flinching every time his hand happens to touch it, earning even more looks from classmates. By the time school is over, Jeongin’s been zapped over 30 times and is about to get on his knees in thanks that the day is over.

“Hey, Jeongin,” Soonyoung catches his elbow, but immediately pulls away as Jeongin shoots him a dirty look. "You wanna come over and play video games? Yunho and Minseok are coming too.” Right now, Jeongin doesn’t want to do anything other than go home, take some acetaminophen, and lay in a dark room until his headache goes away. He doesn’t even want to look at the sharp, blue light from his phone, much less a tv.

“Sorry; I told my mom I’d go to the store for her. Besides, I think I actually am coming down with something. Next time though, yeah?” 

“Yeah, sure. Your loss.” Jeongin sighs. He can’t help but to feel that it’s not, that it’s the right decision to not go. Maybe it’s the filial piety talking.

It sure as hell isn’t his “spidey-sense,” right? That would be ridiculous, Jeongin thinks as he scans over the grocery list his mom sent him. Sure, Jeongin knows - well, knows of - Gifted people. There’s a kid in the year above him who can teleport apparently (though that might just be a rumour), and he thinks someone in class 2 can talk to animals or something like that, but there’s no way Jeongin is like them. Jeongin is normal. His parents are normal. 

_ “Genetics don’t guarantee a Gift, or lack thereof,” _ he remembers his 6th grade science teacher telling them. But Jeongin is older now, has read more about this, and he feels content in saying that his chances of being Gifted are considerably low. And he’s happy with that. Things are comfortable as they are; gentle, soothing waves on the sea of life. Jeongin’s biggest problem right now is math, not figuring out how to control an ability he never even asked for. As much as he hates math, he wouldn’t mind if it stayed like that.

Well, actually, his biggest problem right now is this stupid feeling he still has. The thing is, Jeongin doesn’t feel  _ sick _ . Aside from the tingling and the headache, he feels perfectly fine, if a little on edge. Though the headache is making him feel decidedly less fine by the minute. A worker in the produce section comes up to him and wisely backs off when she catches sight of Jeongin glowering at the fruit like he wants to take revenge on it for killing his parents or something. 

The light above Jeongin’s head flickers again. His face screws up and he squints at it as if it’ll somehow get the message that he would be yelling at it if he wasn’t in the middle of the supermarket. 

Deep breaths… deep breaths. He’s just irritable because of his headache. Yelling won’t solve anything; it won’t even make him feel better. With a loud sigh Jeongin grabs a bag of apples, the last item on his list, and heads to the fridge to buy a bottle of water for himself. That’s always his mom’s first suggestion when his head hurts and in all honesty, Jeongin knows he could stand to drink more throughout the day. 

The light above him flickers. Like some kind of curse it follows him, leaving a trail of flashing lights and now it isn’t annoying; it’s getting weird. His whole body itches, the tingling of _DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!_ only increasing. Is he haunted? Is the universe just fucking with him? He doesn’t think he deserves either. Jeongin makes it to checkout with the firm decision that he’s going to go home and sleep, history paper be damned. Today will be scratched from the books and he'll try again tomorrow.

The lights flicker, a shudder running through the store. Then they sputter and go dark for the longest three seconds of Jeongin's life during which a sudden, stabbing pain decides to make its grand entrance to Jeongin's headache. Even as the unnatural yellow fills the store once more, before most people have had the chance to freak out, it doesn't go away and Jeongin can feel the tears in the corners of his eyes. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for panic or inconvenience the brief outage may have caused. Our maintenance team is looking into it and we believe it to simply be a breaker problem. Nothing to worry about. Again, we apologize profusely and thank you for your understanding." A breaker problem. It eases Jeongin's nerves a little to hear that for some reason. 

"Sir?" The cashier asks as Jeongin hands over all of the cash in his wallet, unable to fathom counting it with his head as it is. "Are you all right?" Jeongin catches sight of the first spark when she hands him his change and his eyes widen. No, he's imagining things. His headache is playing tricks on him. That's the logical explanation. "Sir?"

"I'm fine," he chokes out, grabbing the bag and scrambling out of the store. He's fine. There is nothing wrong with him. Just a headache. Jeongin is normal. He waits for the bus, looking anywhere but down at his hands. If he can't see it, it isn't happening. Jeongin is normal. 

Of course, he forgets once he gets on the bus, reaching into the bag for the bottle of water. Tiny sparks dance across his hands like a mini light show and Jeongin starts to panic. He's normal. He's  _ normal _ . The water falls back into the bag and his hands are shoved into his pockets in tight fists. 

Tears roll down his window as the sky begins to cry. 

He's normal. 

Jeongin repeats it like a mantra as he runs home, his umbrella, hanging from his arm, the furthest thing from his mind. Repeats it as he fumbles with his key in the lock, not wanting to look at his hands until he can hide them again, as he stands soaking wet in the entrance, as he reluctantly pulls his hands out of his pockets for good and removes his jacket. Jeongin pretends not to see the sparks because Jeongin is normal. Normal people's hands don't spark. It's just his headache making him imagine things. That’s all it is. 

He puts the groceries on the table and shuffles upstairs to the medicine cabinet, thanking God for the invention of acetaminophen. Only after he takes the pills does Jeongin set about changing into dry clothes and toweling his dripping hair. Briefly he wonders if he should run his uniform in the dryer, but purely out of the fact that he doesn't want to go back downstairs now that he's up, he decides that just hanging it will be fine. With that, Jeongin can finally flop down onto his bed and hopefully sleep off this headache until tomorrow. 

Jeongin realizes two things when he wakes up: it’s only 9:15, the red numbers on his desk piercing through the darkness, and his headache has not gone away. At this point he’s pretty sure it’s a migraine, but no matter what he calls it, it  _ hurts _ , entirely unlike anything he’s ever felt before. His hands clutch at his head and he curls up, not knowing what else he can do. Like this, he can see that the sparks haven’t stopped, instead skittering across his arms and legs as well. Now Jeongin really does start to cry. He wants it to stop. He wants it to  _ stop _ ! 

The room is suddenly bright, so very bright, as if a purposeful assault on his poor head. Jeongin squeezes his eyes shut and…

Wait. 

This is wrong.

His light is  _ off _ . Jeongin never turned it on before he fell asleep and he woke up in the dark. His light is  _ off _ . A low buzz fills his room. It’s off. It’s off. 

Jeongin is normal. 

Something shatters and the buzzing stops. Jeongin’s eyes open tentatively to see nothing but darkness again and he reaches for his phone, turning on the flashlight and sweeping it over the room to try and find what broke. Glass twinkles on his desk, beneath his desk lamp, and as he shines it towards his ceiling, Jeongin can see a crack in his light fixture, also filled with what he assumes to be more shards of glass. It’s just a freak accident, he tries to tell himself, that’s all. His hands continue to spark and his phone shorts out abruptly.

Normal.

Even he doesn’t believe himself anymore.

Jeongin stumbles to the bathroom, partially in search of migraine relief and partially because he can’t be in his room anymore. Not after… whatever that was. The lights are on in the rest of the house and he can hear his parents watching something downstairs. He hopes they don’t notice the lights flickering, hopes that it’s been contained to just around him. Jeongin is afraid to look in the mirror, to see the sparking in its entirety. But he does anyway, takes in the red eyes and wet cheeks, the way his hair stands up like it’s been rubbed by a balloon, the sparks that now flash across his torso as well. Jeongin thinks he even catches sight of a few in his hair and he gives up. He just wants to disappear.

And then he does. 

Physically, Jeoning knows he’s still in the bathroom. But the mirror is empty. So Jeongin does what he thinks anyone would do in his situation: he panics. 

Downstairs, he can hear loud footsteps as his parents run from the living room as he screams. The lights start to whine and flicker like crazy, and Jeongin can see himself flicker in the mirror as well, like a glitch. He falls back and sits on the floor and stares at his hands in horror as they disappear and reappear. What’s wrong with him? What’s  _ wrong  _ with him? He’s normal. Jeongin is normal!

There’s a still moment as his parents burst through the door to see Jeongin’s tear stained face. A still moment as he looks them in utter fear and then starts to wail. It’s like Jeongin’s been hit in the chest with a baseball bat as something surges through him and the light above them explodes, sending the bathroom into darkness. No, not just the bathroom, he realizes. No light comes from the hall, the tv downstairs is silent… the whole house has been plunged into darkness. With it, his headache has subsided, the tingling dissipated almost entirely, and he no longer looks like a sparkler. Jeongin can’t pretend anymore.

“Jeongin?” His mother says worriedly as she joins him on the bathroom floor, taking his hands in hers. He pulls them away.

“I didn’t mean to,” he cries, “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m  _ sorry _ .”

“Don’t be sorry,” his dad kneels beside them, gently stroking Jeongin’s hair. “It isn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

“But I  _ am _ wrong.” He isn’t meant to be like this. Not one Gift, but two? He’s only heard horror stories of such things. Warnings and cautionary tales. People like that… like  _ him _ ... are dangerous, unhinged, threats to society. His parents ought to just turn him in right now.

“No.” Jeongin is pulled into a tight hug. “You’re not,” his mother’s voice is strong, her touch grounding. “You’re still our baby. You’re still you. You’re still Jeongin.” Her shoulder soaks up his tears.

Jeongin was normal.

He isn’t anymore.

  
  


“Excuse me, do you work here?” 

Jeongin turns away from the cookies he’s restocking to look down at his vest, emblazoned with the logo of the store on the left and with his name tag on the right. Then he looks at the old man who’s asking and blinks.

“Yes.” Does he look like he would he wear this for fun? Somehow Supermart has found the one shade of green  _ no one _ looks good in. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Can you tell me where the sesame oil is?” Jeongin’s eyes trail up to the signs hanging above the aisles, where there is one that so very clearly says “oil” in dark letters. But according to Jeongin’s manager, pointing this out to customers is “rude,” as is not taking them to the product they ask about. 

“Of course. Right this way.” Hopefully no one gives him shit for leaving in the middle of restocking. Helping the customer is the number one priority, but somehow leaving your work to do so is wrong. Just once Jeongin would like something in this store to make sense. That, however, would be too much to ask for.

“Get a job!” His parents had said. “It’ll be good for you.” Jeongin’s pretty sure they just wanted to get him out of the house more, especially after his entrance exams, when he’d been so stressed out that he’d burst a lightbulb daily. So now he’s been stuck at Supermart for the past three months and he’s still got a month left until he quits, just in time for college to start up. In those three months, the only valuable life skill Jeongin has learned is how to unpack boxes in record time and how to look busy when he really isn’t. He’s also learned that doing things the easy, logical way seems to be discouraged here and that obviously he should have the ability to be in two places at once, which is why Jeongin just knows he’s going to be lectured about leaving his work half unfinished.

“Here you are, sir,” Jeongin gestures to a shelf, “sesame oil. Is that all I can help you with today?”

“Hey, invisiboy!” Jeongin’s eyes go wide at the nickname. He thought he’d never have to hear it again now that he’s graduated, that it died with his high school career. Given that it’s only been a few weeks, maybe that was too optimistic of him to think. The man gives Jeongin a funny look and he tries for an uneasy smile in return, mumbling an apology and turning on his heel to try and speed walk before he has to deal with the name caller. “Yang Jeongin!” 

He’s not so lucky, caught by his former classmates just in front of the freezers. “So it is you.”

“Yunho,” Jeongin smiles nervously, “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon after graduation. I thought you were traveling.” Once, he thinks they could have been considered friends. They hung out, mostly through Soonyoung, and they’d eat lunch together and talk without much awkwardness. But then Yunho found out about Jeongin’s invisibility and he’d changed, had taken to thinly veiled insults and snide remarks and loudly discussed his distaste for “those Gifted freaks” and “Unnaturals” knowing Jeongin was within earshot. Soonyoung had said he didn’t mean it and Jeongin, unwilling to risk his friendship with Soonyoung by making him choose between him and Yunho, had smiled and laughed. It didn’t change the fact that Yunho’s eyes burned with a fire that made it clear he meant every word he said, or the fact that Jeongin could tell even Soonyoung and Minseok started looking at him funny after a while. He’s loath to imagine what Yunho would do if he found out about Jeongin’s second Gift. The one he shouldn’t even have. 

“I had a change of plans. But what are you doing here?”

“Working,” Jeongin swallows hard. Yunho’s got a glint in his eye he doesn’t like and with his height, he’s already intimidating enough without it.

“They let you?” Yunho scoffs. “You lie on your application or something?” Jeongin frowns.

“They didn’t ask,” he says quietly. “I’m registered anyway, so it’s not like it matters. It isn’t a secret.” Even if it was, Jeongin sucks at hiding his invisibility. He’d have been found out a long time ago. 

“Can we interrupt for a moment?” A trio of boys are staring at Jeongin and Yunho, one of them looking rather concerned. Jeongin feels relief wash over him, but Yunho’s friends block them off before he has a chance to respond.

“Can’t you see we’re busy?” Yunho glares at the boy who’d spoken and rolls his eyes. He misses the narrowing of the boy’s eyes, but the boy turns abruptly and the other two follow him, leaving Jeongin to fend for himself once again. Yunho launches into some rant that Jeongin tunes out of immediately.

_ “Asshole,” _ A voice Jeongin’s never heard spits in his head and his brows furrow in confusion. What the hell is that all about? It’s right though; Yunho is an asshole and Jeongin’s had enough of him. 

“What are you gonna do, invisiboy? Disappear like you always do?” Yunho must mistake the furrowing of Jeongin’s brow for fear. 

“Stop calling me that.” Jeongin’s hands tighten into fists and he looks Yunho straight in the eye. “I’m not disappearing now, am I? I’m right here and you can see me.” There’s a tingling beneath Jeongin’s skin, a thrum building in his fingers and he knows he should quit while he’s ahead, but if he backs down now he might never stand up to Yunho again. “You have nothing on me, nothing you can hold over my head. Tell the world I’m Gifted; I don’t care. It’s not illegal.”

Yunho doesn’t take this well. His eyes widen almost comically as he stares at Jeongin. Then the dangerous glint returns. “And if I were to say you were a dual-Wielder? What then?” Jeongin’s mind comes to a screeching halt and pins and needles run through his whole body. Yunho can’t know. There’s no way. Jeongin’s been careful. He’s been  _ careful _ . 

“Wh-why would you lie about that?” He laughs with too much breath. “That isn’t funny. You could get me in trouble.”

“Because I can.” Yunho smirks. “And I hate Unnaturals like you.” He means it too, Jeongin can tell. Yunho would rat him out simply because he felt like it. The air around him feels crackly, tense, like summer air before a lightning strike. Jeongin’s never truly been scared of Yunho, but right now, in this moment, he’s terrified. 

Just as the switch is flipped on this realization, the store is plunged into darkness. Jeongin lets out a tiny yelp before he vanishes into it. He’s never been good at controlling either ability when he’s frightened. As chaos descends on the shoppers, he backs away from Yunho as quickly as he can until his legs bump into the edge of the freezers and he nearly tumbles into the shredded cheese. 

Someone grabs his arm before he can though and Jeongin whips his head around to look at them because he’s still invisible; no one should be able to catch him when they can’t see him. He squints against the dark, slowly able to make out one of the boys in the trio from earlier looking at him and he really does seem like he  _ can  _ in fact see Jeongin. 

“You should be more careful,” the boy says lightly, but there’s an undertone of knowing in his voice, something serious.

“Careful of what?” Jeongin can’t help but blurting. Of running his mouth? Of Yunho? Of turning invisible? Of the freezers? Of accidentally causing a blackout? Gently the boy pulls him forward, dodging people and carts and shelves that Jeongin doesn’t even see until it’s almost too late with the same ease he might with the lights on.

“Just careful,” he shrugs. They’ve stopped now, and Jeongin’s still adjusting vision can make out the shapes of two other people. He’s going to say that he isn’t too far off when he guesses they’re the other two of the trio. “Hyung, are you sure he’s… you know?”

“You heard my voice earlier, didn’t you?” It’s the voice from Jeongin’s head. Actually, come to think of it, it’s the voice of the boy who initially tried to interrupt Yunho and him.

“Yeah,” he says cautiously because he still doesn’t know what the deal with these three is. “You asked if you could interrupt.”

“I mean in your head. I felt a channel open.” A… channel…? Maybe it’s good they can’t see Jeongin right now. The face he’s making definitely implies he thinks this new guy’s a few cards shy of a full deck.

“I mean, I guess?”

“I don’t know, hyung,” the third boy, silent until now, pipes up. “I don’t trust him.”

“Hey, you’re the ones that grabbed  _ me _ ,” Jeongin reminds him. “I don’t trust  _ you _ .” The emergency lights finally come on and in the orange glow he can more clearly see the trio. Though he’s sure there’s a lot more striking things about their appearances there’s only one thing that catches his attention at the moment, purely because it’s so absurd to him that he can’t help but comment. “How are you not freezing?” 

Third Boy is wearing a t-shirt, a jacket (much thinner than Jeongin thinks any jacket should be in February) draped over his arm. And sure, it’s warmer in the store than outside, but it’s not t-shirt warm. The oldest, the one not holding Jeongin’s arm, turns to look at him.

“Seungmin...” he sighs. Third Boy, Seungmin, pouts a little.

“I know, but I got hot.” Oldest shakes his head, like this is an ongoing issue and he’s too tired to fight about it. 

“Let’s talk outside,” Oldest says instead. “There’s too many people in here.”

“I can’t just leave in the middle of my shift; I’ll get fired.” Which, honestly, wouldn’t be that much of a tragedy, but explaining it to his parents… that’s another story. “Three random guys asked me to go outside and talk to them,” doesn’t sound like it would go over well. And thinking about it, it sounds ridiculously shady. Oldest gives him a look.

“We’re not going to kidnap you.” He sounds exasperated and Jeongin blinks at him because he knows he didn’t voice his suspicion out loud. “This,” he gives a gesture at the darkened store and then a meaningful look at Jeongin, “is going to take a while to fix. You’ll be back before the power comes back on. Okay?” Despite everything, despite Jeongin knowing that going with people he doesn’t know is one of the dumbest decisions he can make, there’s some sort of pull he feels to them. Like they’re kindred spirits. Like they understand.

“Okay,” he relents.

And that’s how Jeongin ends up freezing his ass off in the park down the street, watching Seungmin and the still unnamed boy who’d saved him from the shredded cheese argue.

“Put on the jacket.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“What if people see you?”

“There’s no one out here.”

“But there could be.”

“So what? I’ll make up some excuse.”

“You look like a weirdo.”

“ _ You’re  _ a weirdo.”

“Yah, don’t talk to your hyung like that.”

“Seungmin-ah,” Oldest finally says, “just put it on.” Seungmin grumbles something about sweating, but does as Oldest says, folding his arms to show that he’s not happy about it and no one can make him be. “You know, this might be easier if we could see you,” he says in Jeongin’s general direction. 

Oh. Right. Jeongin had honestly forgotten. The only sign that he’s even here is the fourth trail of footprints in the snow. He focuses for a moment, then looks down and sees himself again. A wave of tiredness hits right after, the unfortunate side effect of his Gift.

“Woah, how do you  _ do  _ that?” Seungmin’s looking at him with wide eyes, forgetting he’s meant to be mad about the jacket. Jeongin cocks his head.

“Turn visible?” Seungmin nods. “I… I don’t know. I guess I just… think about it… and it just kind of… happens?” There’s no real trick to his invisibility; it’s just a matter of will. Most of the time. Jeongin’s always thought that’s how regular Gifts work. He rubs his eyes. “Can I sit?” He could really go for a coffee right about now, but sitting for a while will have to do. 

“Oh, yeah, go ahead,” Oldest waves to the bench, brows raised in understanding. “Sorry, our secondaries aren’t really tiring for us, so we sometimes forget other people’s are.” Jeongin flops down the bench, crosses his arms and tucks his chilly hands under his armpits, and nods until his mind catches up to what Oldest has said.

“Secondaries?” 

“Hyung!” Both Unnamed Boy and Seungmin shout. “We don’t even know if he’s like us yet.” Oldest takes a seat on the bench beside Jeongin, ignoring the younger boys.

“I was able to find a connection with you rather than creating one. I’ve only ever had that with others like me,” he plows on, ignoring Jeongin’s question entirely. 

“What the  _ hell _ are you talking about?” Connections? What is this guy on?

_ “I’m talking about this,” _ Oldest’s voice echoes in his head. His palm opens in front of Jeongin and a tiny flame dances in the center. Then, quick as it had appeared, his fingers curl over it and the flame dies.  _ “We’re dual-Wielders. Like you, Yang Jeongin-ssi.” _

“Like me?” Jeongin squeaks. The hair on the back of his neck is starting to stand up and there’s that stupid tingling he’s learned to associate with his unwanted ability. 

“Maybe you could have eased him into it a little more.” Seungmin’s taken off the jacket again and, sure enough, he does appear to be sweating. That shouldn’t be possible. “You’re scaring the poor kid.”

“Oh, and you’d know,” Unnamed boy mutters. “Thought you had to touch people.” Seungmin kicks him lightly in the shin and makes a face.

“Maybe if you’d spend two seconds looking at his face you’d have realized it too.”

“I saved him from falling into the freezer.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Guys,” Oldest sighs again. “Not helping.”

“Look,” Jeongin starts, scooching farther away from Oldest, “I think there’s a misunderstanding. I’m not… I’m not a dual-Wielder. That blackout was just a system failure.”

“Who said anything about the blackout, Jeongin-ssi?” Oldest is calm, staring at Jeongin like he can see through his weak lie. 

“How do you know my name? Do you work for the government or something? Oh my God, that’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re trying to get me to admit it. Oh my God,” he puts his head in his hands, prickles exploding under his skin, “I’m too young to die.” 

“Dude, you’re wearing a nametag; calm down. We don’t work for the government. If anything, we work against them,” Unnamed Boy sounds exasperated. “You're literally sparking.” Jeongin slides his hands down and Unnamed Boy is right, which just makes him start freaking out more. The sparks intensify with his panic. He can’t lose control in public like this. He  _ can’t _ .

“Seungmin,” Oldest clears his throat, voice a little strained, “do something please.” Jeongin looks up to watch Seungmin as he does… nothing? He does absolutely nothing aside from close his eyes a fraction too long for a blink. A wave of calm slowly washes over Jeongin and he can feel stress leave his muscles along with the prickling. The sparks sputter, then stop entirely. He can do nothing but blink in confusion. Usually it takes him far longer to quiet them.

"You can't control it, can you?" Oldest asks softly. "Not well, anyway."

"I…" Jeongin's shoulders slump in defeat. "No. Not really.” A wash of sympathy bleeds into the trio’s eyes. 

“Are you afraid of it?” Unnamed Boy treads carefully on the subject and the look the trio shares doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeongin. It makes him shrink a little. They seem so collected and calm; they must have full mastery of their Gifts. 

Unlike Jeongin.

“Kind of,” he mumbles. “I know that’s stupid, or whatever, but-”

“It isn’t stupid.” Oldest’s eyes widen at him in surprise, mouth twisting into a small frown. “I think we’ve all been scared of our Gifts at some point. There’s nothing stupid about it.” The other two nod vehemently, like somehow their backing Oldest up will reassure Jeongin more, which it doesn’t. 

Okay, maybe a little bit. There’s something validating about hearing someone else, someone more in control, admitting that they’ve been afraid too. With luck, one day Jeongin too will be able to say that he  _ was  _ scared, but that he isn’t anymore. That’s the dream. Oldest’s eyes flit to his watch and he sighs a little. Based on Jeongin’s very limited time with him, he seems to do that a lot.

“Changbin,” so Unnamed Boy does have a name, “Seungmin, go wait in the car.”

“What about you?” Changbin asks.

“I’ll walk Jeongin-ssi back.”

“I don’t need you to walk me back,” Jeongin interjects, waving his hands in front of him. “I’m fine now. There’s no need. You can go with them. It’s really fine.” Oldest gives him a weird look.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Well, Jeongin sure feels awkward. Behind Oldest, Seungmin covers his mouth in an attempt to hide a laugh and Jeongin can feel the tips of his ears start to burn with embarrassment. Changbin clears his throat.

“Can we have the keys, hyung?” Oldest fishes them out of his pocket and tosses them over on reflex, then a sudden thought seems to cross his face and he turns to Changbin and Seungmin and points at them in a parent scolding their children.

“Do not drive away without me,” he tells them sternly, as though it’s happened before. Changbin places a hand on his chest and Seungmin crosses his heart.

“We would  _ never _ ,” they say in unison, then turn to each other, grin, and high five. Jeongin can almost see the stress radiating off Oldest as they walk away and he gives Jeongin a tight smile that looks more like a grimace.

“Let’s be quick.” Jeongin nods, but he can’t help but think that it would make more sense if Oldest just  _ didn’t _ escort him back to the store. What’s he gonna do: get lost? 

“Is Seungmin-ssi sick or something?” He breaks the silence like the thin layer of snow beneath his feet. Oldest raises a brow.

“Not that I’m aware of. Do you think he is?” 

“No… yes… maybe… I don’t know,” Jeongin frowns. “He was sweating a lot given the fact that it’s the middle of winter.” 

“Oh, that,” Oldest shakes his head, a rueful grin etching itself onto his face. “He’s fine.”

“Is it because of his Gift?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Oldest says like he absolutely does, “you’ll have to ask him yourself; wouldn’t be right for me to just tell his personal information.” He stops suddenly and looks over at Jeongin. “Assuming you want to see us again.” 

“What do you mean?” Jeongin stops in front of the door and cocks his head. 

“We can help you, Jeongin-ssi,” Oldest’s eyes are imploring. “You’re not alone.”

“Help me...” Jeongin echoes. Oldest gives him a small nod. “You can teach me to control it?” Another nod. Jeongin chews on his bottom lip. Realistically, this isn't a good idea. He doesn’t  _ know _ this guy. But he’s like Jeongin, risked using his Gift in public to prove it, and that counts for something.

Right?

“Okay,” he says finally. Oldest almost looks surprised. He digs into his jacket pocket furiously, as though Jeongin will change his mind if he takes too long, until he pulls out a crumpled napkin.

“Pen?” Jeongin hands one over from the front pocket of his vest. He has a pad of paper too, if Oldest had asked, but he feels like it’s too late to say anything now. Oldest lifts a leg and smooths the napkin out over his thigh as he scribbles something onto it before holding it out to Jeongin.

“You should get back,” he tilts his chin towards the store and Jeongin turns to see the lights flickering back on and hear a cheer go up among the customers who had decided to wait. “Hope to see you soon, Jeongin-ssi.” Oldest smiles and waves as he starts to turn away. 

“Yeah,” Jeongin mumbles. Today has been a weird day. “Wait!” He calls after Oldest, a sudden realization coursing through him like lightning in his veins. Oldest looks over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“You never told me your name.” 

“Oh,” Oldest laughs, “it’s Bang Chan.” And then he’s gone, leaving Jeongin to return to his shift, the only sign he wasn’t just a hallucination the crumpled napkin in Jeongin’s hand, clutched tightly like a childhood dream.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> realistically, updates will be sporadic because I'm truly a slave to my braincell and sometimes she grinds, sometimes she leaves me to die in a ditch for 2 months it's chill  
> but regardless Attempts to update like once a month will be made


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